


Casmir

by Del (goddessdel)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Relationships, F/M, Open Relationships, POV Sherlock Holmes, Perfume, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Del
Summary: The waft of Casmir is like a slap.
Relationships: Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Janine
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	Casmir

**Author's Note:**

> Written: 12/29/17-1/4/18
> 
> I'll admit that I forgot 1) that I wrote this and 2) to post this.
> 
> This fic is heavily Sherlock/Irene, even though Irene isn't present. Sherlock/Janine is not endgame but is present. An exploration of how Sherlock and Janine's faux relationship might've progressed in Series 3. Via medium of perfume and a "what if".

It's her perfume. It should be impossible but, when he swings open the door, Sherlock fully expects to see The Woman on the other side with a knowing smirk and daring plan.

Janine grins up at him, her look growing confused when he just stands there, staring. She busses his cheek as she ducks under his arm with a giggle, and the waft of Casmir is like a slap.

Sherlock inhales sharply, his knuckles turning white around the door frame.

"What's the matter with you today, silly?"

He nearly spits out, " _You_ ," his anger sudden and vicious.

She dares to wear The Woman's perfume? As though she could ever live up to its sharp intensity?

Of course, The Woman hardly has a monopoly on the perfume. He's caught whiffs of it before, in posh neighborhoods and fancy boutiques. It always stops him in his tracks until he identifies the source.

He always hopes it will be _her_.

Hope is such a foolish sentiment.

Sherlock shuts the door, shoving his clenched fists in his pockets and trying for casual. "New perfume?"

Janine rolls her eyes but lets him dodge her question, settling in his chair with an easy over-familiarity that still sets his teeth on edge. "Aww, Sherl, you noticed! Do you like it?"

It's an effort to force his face into a facsimile of a smile. "Of course I noticed. Where did you get it?"

She gives him a look that implies she's quite proud of herself, as though she's pulled one over on him.

The deduction hits him before she can open her mouth. Sherlock doesn't bother to hide his incredulous sneer. "You stole the bottle from my room."

"I didn't steal it," Janine seems genuinely shocked by his vehemence. Her confidence wavers with her voice. "I figured if you kept the bottle in your room, you might like it if I put it on. It was supposed to be a surprise!"

"You went through my things."

It is not a question. The bottle of Casmir - left by The Woman as a trophy after a particularly vivid weekend holed up in his bedroom (John had been working doubles and Mycroft had come down with a particularly nasty bout of influenza, an opportunity The Woman took unrepentant advantage of) - was well hidden in case John did another idiotic drugs raid. Her perfume had lingered for weeks after her stay, though he hadn't found the half-full bottle concealed under his bed for several months; not until he'd been searching for one of his emergency packs of fags in a fit of boredom. He'd kept the bottle.

And now Janine was wearing The Woman's perfume and giving him a slightly guilty but mostly unrepentant pout. "I was curious."

He's been pacing, agitated, but he spins back to her when she offers such a ridiculous excuse. "About what?"

"About you, silly. Why _do_ you have a bottle of women's perfume? Is it part of some naughty fantasy?" Janine ought to be concerned about the most likely answers to her first query: either that he fancies the perfume on himself (wrong) or that it is from another Woman (correct). Instead, her tone is openly flirtatious.

He stalks closer, fingers closing around her wrist, the scent seeping into his fingertips as he tries not to inhale. "Wash it off."

If she were a smarter woman, she'd be afraid of him. The Woman is not something he compromises on, and Janine has stepped blithely across a very dangerous line. But she only gives him a naughty wink, misinterpreting his labored breathing and proximity. "Why? Is it turning you on?"

It was inevitable that she would expect intercourse. It would be an efficient way to engender her loyalty, associating him with the positive hit of oxytocin. It could only accelerate his plans.

Still, he's been avoiding it.

Irrationally because, despite what his brother believes, he's not a virgin. He doesn't ascribe any particular emotional meaning to sex, nor does he feel any guilt about using it as a means to an end.

It's not as though there's any reason he should stay celibate. The Woman certainly isn't.

She'd probably laugh at his hesitation.

He's not particularly attracted to Janine - he never feels any particular attraction for anyone based on appearance alone - but he doesn't find her as repellant as most of the idiots he encounters in his daily life - or he didn't until now. But the scent of Casmir is arousing on its own - a Pavlovian response after his time with The Woman, and one that he never intends to admit to.

It makes it easier, even if Janine is a paltry imitation of The Woman who wears it.

"Yes."

After all, admitting it to Janine is not admitting it to anyone of consequence.

Janine's smile is genuinely pleased - she'd been teasing him before and hadn't really expected him to agree so explicitly. Her eyes light up - she's obviously attracted to him and has been trying to entice him to bed for weeks now.

"Then why don't you give me the proper tour of your bedroom?" Janine is not the kind of girl to waste an opportunity.

He does appreciate that about her. After all, his plan is progressing nicely and she's at least bolder and more interesting than he'd hoped for.

Sherlock inhales the scent of Casmir, smirking as he leads a giggling Janine to his bedroom, his grip still tight around her wrist.

The sex is as uninspired as he expected, given the cut of her hair. Which is perhaps not fair to Janine, who probably fancies herself quite bold - she's taken him to bed after all - considering she's being held up against a professional dominatrix.

The Woman's creativity in the bedroom - or whatever space they happen to occupy together - is varied, extensive, and expertly applied.

Janine, on the other hand, reminds him of the porn on John's computer: bland and predictable.

Perfunctory.

After, she curls into him with a contented sigh and quickly falls asleep.

Sherlock extricates himself the second her breathing evens, walking naked through the flat to find his supplies - if he's meant to play the lovey-dovey boyfriend role when she wakes, he'll require far more cocaine than is currently swimming in his system.

He sinks into his chair with the needle and his mobile, scrolling through old texts without typing any reply.

The flat still smells like The Woman's perfume.


End file.
